Transylvania
Episode Three
Masquerade Ball
Part One
AN: Alright, just to make everyone aware, I'm taking things from various Dracula stories and cannibalizing them. Philandra, Beatrice, and Delphi are the harpies, though different versions of them (since Van Helsing did chop off their heads in the story). A character will be appearing here that's similar to a character from another Dracula story. No prizes for guessing which one.
"How's the patient," one of the doctors at the mental institution asked.
"Which one," the other doctor, looking as if he was in dire need of a smoke, questioned. "Rookie, you have no idea how many nutzos we've got in here."
"The one that keeps talking about vampires and shit," the rookie answered.
"Oh, him. The Goth kid. Well, c'mon, let's go see for ourselves." The elder doctor grinned and nudged the rookie in the arm. "Give you ten-to-one that the kid ain't gettin' any better."
"You realize this is some guy's life, right," the rookie responded, looking a little disgusted.
"Hey, you learn not to care after awhile, kiddo. C'mon, we've got a couple hallways to cover."
"Don't call me kiddo," the rookie replied. He was average height, perhaps just slightly leaning more towards the short side, but he was strong. His skin was dark, and he had shaved his head recently, probably for a charity benefit that Drakul had put on. He was young, but had an aura of maturity and pride about him that some adults – especially the one walking next to him – didn't have.
"Oooh, think you're big 'cause you're only here to pay for the real deal, surgeon school?" He laughed and shook his head. "Come off it, kiddo. They throw the students who aren't makin' it to us." Before the rookie could say anything, the elder doctor stopped in front of a door and slid the viewscreen back. "There. See for yourself."
The rookie peered in, looking at the thin kid inside. He was huddled in the upper right corner of his room, looking as if he was on high alert, his eyes never leaving the window. "He looks scared as shit," the rookie sighed.
"Yeah, he is," the elder doctor replied. "Vampires. Motherfucker's insane."
"Yeah, real compassionate," the rookie muttered sarcastically. His brows furrowed then, before uttering, "What the shit…something's happening."
"What is it," the elder doctor questioned. "Ohhh, fuck. Is that shithead cutting himself again?"
"It's some kinda mist, from the window…what the fuck?!" The rookie stumbled backwards in shock. The elder doctor peered in and watched, in utter, shocked horror as the mist formed into first a humanoid figure, and then a person…a familiar person.
Vladimir Drakul.
The elder doctor fumbled with the keys, even as he saw that the kid was right, Vladimir had fangs and had just formed out of mist that had floated in through the open window, he was a vampire. Vladimir began to chant, even as the kid, Chris, started forward, charging at him. Dark shadows began to spin in the room, and suddenly Chris was knocked backwards by a blackish blast, slamming the boy into the wall. Vladimir quickly changed the chant, and suddenly a greenish energy burst from Chris's upper chest. Vladimir grinned wickedly and changed the chant once more, the greenish energy making it halfway to him before suddenly dispersing and vanishing, almost like a cloud of smoke would.
That was when the elder doctor flung the door open. Vladimir grinned and wagged his finger at him before turning and heading back towards the window. The elder doctor stood, dumbfounded, as Vladimir shifted back into mist and merely wafted back out the window. The rookie was hanging back, just outside the door, cautious and nervous. The elder doctor advanced on the boy, who was struggling up from the ground. "Kid? You okay? You alright?" Suddenly Chris's head snapped up, his eyes locking with the doctor's, and they were cold and dead and held nothing of what they once had.
Chris abruptly leapt toward him, and then all went black.
The next morning, Jack sat on his couch, flipping through the channels, his parents gone for the month on vacation. It had been a hectic day, getting Delphi situated in his house, making sure Drakul or the other two women hadn't followed them, and then finally getting some sleep. Quincey was still passed out on the opposite couch, and Jack himself hadn't been awake for long. He was currently flipping through the news channels, trying to see if anything strange had occurred during the day that they'd missed during their activities.
After about two minutes of this, Jack was bored. He threw the remote into the air with an exasperated sigh, the TV stopped on the local news channel. He pushed himself off the couch, walking groggily towards the fridge to get some bread. He was in the mood for toast and a bowl of sugar-filled cereal. "Caffeine is the gift of the gods," he muttered ruefully, looking at the empty coffee pot. "Need some Cinnamon Toast Crack," he grumbled, opening up the cupboard. "Damnit, Chris needs to stop eating my food," he groaned, his hands passing over the cereals before stopping on one. "Count Chocula…ironic," he laughed, before grabbing that box. "I may not want to see another 'Count' for as long as I live, but this is pretty good cereal," he sighed, pouring himself a bowl. He turned and began walking back towards the couch.
He made it halfway before he registered what the anchorman was saying. The bowl dropped from a suddenly limp hand and he practically flew into his family room, shoving Quincey less than lightly. "Get up! Quincey, get up!"
Quincey was up like a shot, muscles tensed, afraid but ready to fight. When he saw there was no danger, he relaxed, scowling at Jack. "Damnit Jack, don't-"
"Quincey, shut up and listen to the news."
Late last night, Transylvania Mental Hospital suffered what could possibly be the bloodiest escape in its history. One doctor was killed brutally, beaten and stomped to death, in the room of patient Christopher Harper. No word on where Harper is now, only that the police are handling it and should have it under control soon. Citizens are warned not to approach the patient if they see him, as he may be dangerous. Funeral arrangements for Fletcher Morris, the doctor that the patient murdered, have not been finalized as of this report.
The boys stood in silence for a few moments, before finally, Jack uttered, "We have to find Chris."
The young man awoke in a dim room, lying in a comfortable, plush bed. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew he was nervous. He knew he should be sitting up, too. That way, if there was something dangerous here – why he thought there would be something dangerous, he wasn't sure, but he did – he could at least see it before it killed him.
That thought in his mind, he quickly discovered sitting up was much harder than it should've been. He groaned loudly and had to push himself up against the headboard to stay up. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of pants and boxers, and his dark skin was paler than it should have been. His head – apparently recently shaved – was catching a draft, and he shivered despite not wanting to do so.
He spied a man sitting, slumped, in a chair near the corner, and for an instant had a flash of a familiar memory, but it was gone quickly. Which is when the young man realized something else.
He didn't know who he was. "Hey," he called, finding his throat drier than he thought it should've been. "Hey, w-what's going on?"
The man in the chair turned, revealing skin that was far too pale. His hair was a bright blonde, so bright in fact that it was almost white. The back reached to the end of his neck, while the front was cut shorter, his bangs brushing his eyebrows, and the sides reaching to just above the earlobes. The face itself looked regal, and for a moment the young man thought he was looking at a prince, but then brushed that thought away as whimsy.
The man was apparently young, though strong of build. He wore a dark sweater, work pants, and combat boots, a long coat folded and hanging on the back of the chair. "Take it easy," the man said, getting up and moving over to him. "You went through hell. When I found you, you were barely alive."
"Look, just…just tell me what's going on." The man sighed, but complied.
"I found you in a mental institution that someone I'm…looking for happened to be. You were beaten badly, and on the brink of death. I did what I could, and managed to heal you."
"But…but I look fine. Like I lost some blood, but other than that, fine."
"True," the pale man consented. "I can do a lot."
"Who…who am I?"
"You don't know?"
"No. I…I don't. I probably hit my head."
"Your head was one of the worse injuries," the pale man confirmed. He then sighed and shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry. I don't know you. I've just been calling you 'The Doctor.'"
"Why?" The pale man got up and moved to a dresser near the left side of the bed. He held up what was apparently a uniform of some kind…a doctor's uniform. It was ripped and torn up, but still recognizable.
"I guess you worked at the mental hospital," the pale man suggested. "I couldn't find a name tag."
"Well…I guess I should thank you." The pale man shook his head, as if to say "no need" and The Doctor let it drop. "Who are you?"
"Call me," the pale man began, pausing, "call me Al."
It had been a long, hard day for Jack and Quincey. They had searched the town over for Chris, before getting Professor Van Helsing to help them search outside of it. No one had seen or heard from Chris since his escape, apparently. Now, as the pair of them came in, miserable and not hoping to salvage the rest of the afternoon or evening, slumped down onto the couches in the family room. "I guess Delphi's still sleeping," Jack observed, after a moment.
"Yeah," Quincey replied, sounding numb. "What's in the mail?" He gestured tiredly to the objects clutched in Jack's left hand.
"Probably junk," Jack returned, flipping through it idly, tossing the junk on the floor, deciding that he'd pick it up later. "Bill, bill, bill, 'You could already be a winner', Official PlayStation Magazine subscription renewal-"
"It's all junk," Quincey sighed. "Just throw it for now."
"…Quincey, I really don't think you should say stuff from now on," Jack said slowly, holding up an envelope that said, "To Jack and Quincey," on it in pristine, flowing handwriting, Drakul's seal placed in the upper right corner. "You're like that guy in movies, the one that says 'It couldn't get any worse' and then it does."
"Hey," Quincey replied, before sighing. "Yeah, you're right." Jack sighed as well and opened the envelope, holding it out at arms length, with the side to be opened pointing away from him. Quincey gave him an odd look.
"What," Jack snapped. "He could've put anthrax in it."
"Anthrax," Quincey questioned, amused. "Jack, he's a vampire. I don't think he'd put anthrax in the envelope."
"Hey, better safe than sorry," he responded. Seeing that no anthrax had exploded from the envelope, Jack turned it around and pointed it downwards, carefully letting the card drop. "…Alright, maybe I'm just paranoid." Jack picked up the card, opened it…
…and got a face full of white powder. Quincey was off the couch like a shot, muttering about not saying something like that ever again, when Jack waved him back down. "Don't worry," Jack sighed, coughing immediately afterwards. "It's flour."
"Flour," Quincey asked. He sounded torn between being angry and amused.
"Yeah, flour," Jack snapped back irritably. He opened the card and read what was inside aloud. "'I believe the phrase is…gotcha, correct? Regardless, you and your infiltrating friend are both invited to a masquerade ball I am throwing tonight at my castle. Leave Delphi at home, though…she never did like those things.'"
"Well…it could get worse," Quincey suggested, sounding as if he was trying to be helpful. Just then, Delphi stepped into the family room and, upon seeing Jack, furrowed her brow.
"Jack…why do you have flour on your face?" Jack groaned and buried his face in hands, Quincey trying not to laugh and Delphi just looking confused.
Night had fallen on the town of Transylvania, and everyone was flowing in and out of Drakul's castle. His masquerade ball was an annual event, and was always very successful. There were quite a few people there, though those of note could be counted on one hand. Drakul, of course, as he was the host of the party.
Jack, dressed as Frodo Baggins, was getting punch from a large, meticulously designed, and beautiful glass bowl.
Quincey, dressed as The Scarecrow, of Batman fame, hung out near the left wall, waiting for Jack to return with the punch.
Philandra and Beatrice, dressed as a pair of Jabba the Hut's Twi'Lek dancers (complete with lekku's attached to their heads with stage glue) hung back, behind Drakul, looking as if they'd been scolded again before the party.
Professor Van Helsing was there, and surprisingly, he was in costume, dressed as The Shadow. He twirled his hat in his right hand idly, glancing around the room from his position at the end of the refreshment table, his eyes guarded.
Jane Doe, dressed as Lady Deathstrike, the X2 version, leaned against a wall near the front, sipping what looked to be punch, but those who knew her knew it most definitely was not.
Al and The Doctor were there as well, positioned near the door; Al dressed in a regal, Victorian era suit and The Doctor dressed as Othello. Both carried real weapons; Al a rapier, and The Doctor a longsword.
Liam and Jessica skipped the ball this year, too bummed from Chris's apparent murderous turn and subsequent disappearance to celebrate.
There was a flash of a man disappearing up the stairs, apparently dressed as Gabriel Van Helsing.
All of them were gathered in a grand ballroom, a large balcony running across three of the four elegantly decorated walls. The guests milled about, talking, dancing, and – all but the noted few – appeared to be having fun.
That was when the man…no, boy dressed as Gabriel Van Helsing stepped out onto the balcony on the right wall, and Drakul looked up and laughed. He signaled for the DJ to cut the music and took the microphone. "Ahhh, this is classic. Do you want me to reenact the entire scene," he questioned of the boy.
The boy merely stood, looking down at Drakul, apparently emotionless.
"Ahhhh, always so stoic." He turned to his guests. "My friends, I give you an esteemed guest of honor…Christopher Harper."
Chris smirked before stepping off the balcony.